


Crossfire

by LegendaryBiologist13



Category: Gungrave, Trigun
Genre: Action, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Gangsters, Gen, Guns, Humor, Minor Original Character(s), Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBiologist13/pseuds/LegendaryBiologist13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[GGAM - GoaL] Two conflicting mafia organizations. One legendary gunslinger on each side. A tax issue between Millennion and Chimera started it all. As a mob war broke out, Brandon and Vash found themselves arguing about their ways of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Loyalist

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Guardian of a Lifetime series, the fourth sub-series of Gungrave: Aftermath. Set after Wintertime Business. This is written for July 2016 Camp NaNo.
> 
> All disclaimers apply.

"You're visiting the bar?" One of the two bouncers spat, folding his brawny arms. "You gotta be kidding. Necrolyzers don't drink."

"And you're from Millennion," the other bouncer added. "Something smells fishy here."

"For safety measures, we can't let you in."

These two men had no idea about who he was, Brandon thought. They sure looked big and muscular for civilians, but his eye registered them as nothing but dwarves. None of them stood as tall as his shoulders.

Brandon simply seized a bouncer by his arm and slammed him against the other. With both of them down, he stepped forward and pushed the bar's iron door open.

"Stop right there!"

It took only an elbow to halt the sneak attack. A groan and a thud followed. But a pair of arms suddenly snaked around him.

Brandon could actually drag the shrimp along with him, but his head told him not to. A thrust from his sound leg propelled him backwards, and he crashed to the ground. His massive body crushed the two bouncers under its weight, incapacitating them.

Upon getting up, he resumed his stride. Dim lights and the guests' widened eyes greeted him inside, and his ears detected a loud "A necrolyzer!" amidst the tranquil lounge music.

Men and women poured out of the bar, screams of terror escaping from their mouths. But five fearless fools remained, picking up the stools and wine bottles nearby.

Brandon's tough flesh deflected everything thrown at him. Demoralized, his attackers stood still with their jaws dropped and arms shaking. However, one roared and charged with a stool in his grasp.

The furniture broke as soon as it hit him. The attacker, now reduced to a trembling midget, stuttered, "S-sorry! L-let me go!"

With a nod, Brandon flicked him away.

Approaching the marble counter, he searched for the bartender or anybody who would give him some clues about the owner's location. Unfortunately, he found a few empty glasses and racks of wine bottles instead of a person. But his gut refused to give up. _Somebody's hiding around here._ With a string of solid punches and kicks, he carved an entrance to the back of the counter.

Beyond the path, a man in an apron crouched with hands on his head and eyes squinted shut. Target found, and Brandon picked him up by his neck. "Take me to your boss," he demanded.

The bartender had opened his eyes and let go of his head, but his mouth remained shut. Even after Brandon slammed him lightly against the smooth tabletop, it refused to budge. Running out of patience, he directed the man's face to the jagged edges of the broken counter.

The bartender didn't want a mangled face. "Stop it! I'll g-guide you!"

Brandon nodded, walking away with the man in his grasp.

Unoccupied tables with half-empty wine glasses and bottles stood before him; some of them had fallen, forming an obstacle course. But the bartender pointed in another direction, prompting him to leave the chaos behind.

A huge iron door lay before them. "Boss' office is beyond this point," the bartender told him.

"Hope you're telling the truth." With a kick, Brandon turned the door into a doormat. Luminescence escaped from the hallway beyond.

The lounge music slowly faded as Brandon went further away from the bar, but the chilly wind remained. The breeze blowing across his face relaxed his body, though he remained focused. If this bartender led him to a trap, at least, his enemies wouldn't catch him off-guard.

Brandon found a huge iron door at the end of the hallway. He stared at the bartender, who told him, "Y-yes, Boss is inside."

"Thank you." After releasing the man, he grabbed the bar handle. A thrust from his sound leg and a shoulder lunge ripped the door hinge off the wall, launching him forward.

Bullets pinged off his makeshift shield. Foul words followed, but they only helped him locate his foes. A swing of the door sent those varmints smashing against the wall.

Further in front of him, a desk stood with a chubby bald man sitting on it. A lit cigar rested between his teeth. "Mr. Zed Archer," Brandon remarked.

"Millennion always sends you whenever they can't get the job done." He took the cigar from his mouth and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Are you here to talk about your ridiculous land tax?"

Brandon nodded. "I don't see anything ridiculous with it. Fifteen percent of this bar's profit is reasonable."

"That is about fifty million yules per month for you."

 _And you called that ridiculous._ Brandon shook his head. That wasn't even a quarter of his medical expense for a month.

"You aren't getting anything from us!" Zed snapped, tossing the cigar at Brandon's face. "Buzz off!"

 _I'll take the money by myself then._ Covering himself back with the giant door, Brandon charged and rammed Zed. The fat man crashed to the ground along with the desk.

Shield up, he shuffled around the room for the safe box. Nothing looked like one, unfortunately. But it could be on the wall, couldn't it? One could hide that behind a painting, as far as he knew from his experience as a predatory moneylender.

Now, Brandon knew where he should go. He approached the painting of a teapot on the wall and put away his makeshift shield. His only hand removed the ornament, revealing a steel door with a keypad and a small, glowing green screen.

"You don't know the password anyway." Zed's muffled laugh came from behind. "Don't bother threatening me either. I won't speak up."

It felt like dealing with a recalcitrant customer in his loan shark business. Because he had to deal with obstacles instead of directions, Brandon didn't need any help from his 'client'. His knuckles busted the steel door in a hit, exposing the bundles of money inside the safe.

"Somebody, stop this monster!" Zed shouted.

Brandon pulled a folded fabric bag out of his coat pocket. After unfolding it, he held it with his teeth and began scooping stacks of money into its opening. With the safe emptied and the bulky loot bag in hand, he turned to Zed.

"You bastard!" the fat man barked, still lying on the floor with his bloodstained hands covering his nose. "You're taking more than the tax!"

"The remaining cash is to compensate the casualties you've inflicted on Millennion," Brandon replied. "You should've talked to our men nicely instead of injuring them."

Cursing, Zed pulled a pistol out of his suit and fired at Brandon. Like the two bouncers outside, the fat man had no idea about his foe. Regular bullets would never pierce through a necrolyzer's flesh.

Smirking at the man's stupidity, Brandon left the office with a trail of dented shells behind him.

* * *

Food and luxury meant nothing to necrolyzers; if they had money, they would only spend it to sustain their lives through renewal therapy. But Brandon wouldn't. Biscoe had used Millennion's wealth to cover his medical expense, forcing him to spend his earnings on something else. And with Mika around, he had learnt to use the money for her happiness.

It had delighted him more than he could imagine, although he never liked how he earned the money. Unfortunately, that was the only way to take care of his family.

With an envelope in his hand, Brandon stepped into Dr. Tokioka's trailer - his and Mika's home. Inside, he found Mika dressed in pajamas and partially covered in a blanket. Sitting on the steel bench with a pair of outstretched legs, she read a comic book with a pair of half-closed eyes.

His heavy footsteps drew her attention. Putting away the book, she rose from her bed and ran to him. "Brandon! I was so worried that I couldn't sleep. I heard they sent you to attack the Chimera family."

"It was nothing." He handed the envelope to Mika and walked towards the shoe rack.

"You weren't hurt?"

Taking off his shoes, Brandon shook his head and smiled slightly. That silly question of Mika's always amused him. She knew his strength; he displayed it whenever they went for a walk at the slum. A thug appeared with a knife? He would grab the blade and crush it. Most hoodlums knew to flee after that.

But his heart always thanked Mika for asking him the funny question. It meant she still cared about him.

Mika walked towards him, waving the envelope. "Um, what should we do with the money? Five million yules is a lot."

"You decide." Looking down at Mika, Brandon patted the little girl's head. "You can buy more snacks or some new clothes-"

"Wait, you're asking me to forget about you?" Mika frowned. "You were the one who earned the money."

 _It doesn't matter anyway._ But Brandon never liked arguing, especially with Mika. Seconds passed as he racked his brain, and he thought of a peaceful solution. They hadn't visited her parents for a few months, so Mika would definitely love a trip to the cemetery. And they would spend some money on their way, too.

"Let's visit your parents tomorrow," he suggested.

* * *

As per his tradition, he would always stop by the florist before going to the cemetery. He needed two posies of forget-me-nots, his favorite flowers. Their symbolism had grabbed his interest since he first learnt their legend from his mother. And Mika, too, had grown to love them, as he had also told her the tragic love story behind those little blue flowers.

_"Once upon a time, a knight and his lady love strolled along a riverside. The knight saw some beautiful blue flowers on the steppingstones amidst the stream, so he decided to pick them up for his lady. Sadly, his armor was too heavy, and he slipped as he gathered the flowers. Before drowning, he tossed them at his beloved and shouted, 'Forget me not!' After the incident, the lady wore those flowers on her hair until she passed away. That was how these flowers earned their name. They symbolize undying love and loyalty."_

Stepping into the flower shop, he heard the blond florist say from the counter, "Long time no see, Mr. Brandon and little Mika. Two bouquets of forget-me-nots again?" she asked. "I never thought a necrolyzer could be so expressive."

Brandon nodded with a smirk, while Mika spoke for him, "He's different from his kind, Mrs. Jenny."

"I know. He isn't the type we must be afraid of." Jenny walked out of the counter. "Anyway, have a seat. I'll get the bouquets done soon."

As he and Mika sat on a steel bench and waited for the flowers, Brandon snickered at Jenny's statement. Not the type of necrolyzer everybody must be afraid of, huh? Well, that only applied if people didn't wrong Millennion or Mika.

Minutes flew by without any news from Jenny, and Mika had fallen asleep. With her leaning against his side, Brandon decided not to search the book stand for a magazine. If he left, he might bother her and interrupt the sleep she needed. Poor thing must've spent the whole night worrying about him.

After a moment of watching over Mika, Brandon finally saw Jenny with two posies of forget-me-nots. As the florist approached the counter and put the flowers down on the table top, he gently poked Mika on her forehead.

Mika opened her eyes. "Uh, what's up?"

Brandon pointed at the forget-me-nots, prompting her to pull away and sit upright. They then stood up and headed to the counter.

"One hundred and fifty thousand yules, Sir," Jenny said.

Brandon fished his wallet out of his coat pocket. With his teeth, he took the money out. Fortunately, they had often bought flowers from Jenny, so he didn't have to worry about his image.

After paying Jenny, Brandon and Mika picked up the posies of forget-me-nots and left the shop.

Cars sped along the shoveled driveway outside. Their van, parked right in front of the flower shop, would soon join the speeding vehicles as well, only if they could find Arnold. That driver must've gone to a coffee shop.

Looking around, Brandon spotted a few umbrella tables across the road. He didn't see Arnold, but he had a hunch that their driver was nearby. With Brandon acting as a moving wall for Mika, they crossed the road. A car had to get through him first before it could hit her, although its owner - if he or she had the guts - might complain him for damaging the vehicle later.

Shoes finally crunching through the snow again, Brandon studied the surroundings. Instead of Arnold, he found Vash playing with a smartphone at one of the umbrella tables. A half-eaten doughnut and a cup of coffee lay in front of him. A woman and a boy stood beside him, their eyes fixed at the gadget.

"Mr. Vash, build a wall-nut here," the boy told him, pointing at the screen. "The zombies can easily destroy the peashooters."

"Really?" Moments later, he burst out laughing. "Too late. Can no longer build a wall-nut here. Oh, well, let's just prepare for a restart."

Vash the Stampede. A few days ago, a wormhole in his world dragged him into Billion. Brandon knew what to do when he first arrived: tricking him into borrowing money from his moneylender service. He succeeded, but he couldn't make Vash return the money. That broom head, slick as an eel, always got away from him.

But Brandon wouldn't talk about Vash's debt again; if he did, they would start another pursuit and wreak havoc - a reason why Millennion had decided to let go of Vash. Moreover, the broom head had helped him; during their chase, Brandon had broken his prosthetic leg by accident. At this, Vash had decided to give him the money he had borrowed, so that he could fix his prosthesis without angering Norton.

Since he hadn't thanked Vash for his help, he would approach him and do it now.

As Brandon and Mika walked towards Vash, the woman stared at him. She then told the boy, "Ed, let's go home."

"Why, Mom?" the boy turned, his gaze meeting Brandon's. His eyes widened, and he immediately snatched his smartphone from Vash's hands. "Sorry, Mr. Vash. We're going home." With that, he left with the woman.

A confused Vash sat still, but once he saw Brandon, he sighed. "Want a piece of advice, buddy? Stop being a crook. People will surely warm up to you."

 _You're asking me to leave my family._ Brandon cast a fierce glare at him. _Don't you know? Whether people know I'm a loan shark or not, they will always avoid me. They think necrolyzers are monsters._

"It's for your own good, y'know?" Brandon remained still, so Vash asked, "Hey, did I just say something wrong?"

"You insulted him," Mika replied flatly. "To him, it's okay to extort people as long as it benefits Millennion."

"You're a strange guy," Vash grumbled. "Why are you so dedicated to a mafia organization? Mobsters do horrible things."

"They are my family."

"Doesn't mean that you can't change your way of life."

 _There's no way I can._ But too lazy to argue with Vash, Brandon turned away with a sulky face. _Besides, I'm here to look for Arnold._ "Anyway, thank you for the money last time."

"Huh?"

Walking away with Mika, Brandon added, "You gave me the money to repair my prosthesis."

Various restaurants stood beside them. Brandon didn't bother searching those buildings, as Arnold would never eat expensive food without his wife and his son. So he kept walking until he came across a convenience store, the only place Arnold would show interest in aside from the coffee shop during working hours.

Approaching the automatic sliding doors, Brandon spotted Arnold standing before the cashier. After keeping his wallet, he left the mini mart with a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

Arnold noticed Brandon's glare. "I'm sorry, Sir. I thought you weren't finished with the flowers yet." He paused. "Uh, I do think you look a little sour now."

"Maybe visiting Mom and Dad will cheer you up," Mika said.

Brandon nodded, but his face remained sullen.

* * *

Dense grey clouds filled the sky. Skeletal trees stood in the distance with icicles hanging on their branches. The snow had covered most of the headstones and turned the graveyard into a field of white.

Like what Mika had said, Brandon finally cracked a smile at the cemetery. Once he placed the posy of forget-me-nots on Big Daddy's grave, he could see his glowing apparition hovering in front of him. Before he vanished into the thin air, he heard him mutter with a smile, "Thank you for not forgetting us, Brandon."

Looking to his right side, he found out that Mika had placed the other bouquet on Maria's grave. She looked at him with a smile. "I told you so." Laughing softly, she wrapped her tiny arms around Brandon's waist and leant on his stomach. "Glad to see you in a good mood again."

Brandon replied with a nod. Once Mika released him, he looked at the snowy ground around Big Daddy's and Maria's headstones. Thick snow had concealed his friends' unmarked graves. _They also needed_ _tombstones_ , he thought, _else people would walk over them._

Unlike Big Daddy and Maria, whose child inherited Millennion's throne, Biscoe would never want to spend the organization's money for his friends' headstones. Knowing that those poor people could only rely on him, Brandon said in his heart, _I'll work harder. I promise I'll get a headstone for each of you._

Suddenly, Brandon heard a series of fast, irregular footsteps from the distance. As he turned, Mika shouted from beside him, "People are coming with guns!"

Within a split second, Brandon put himself in front of Mika. His massive torso deflected the incoming barrage of bullets, but breathing became uncomfortable. _What is this?_

Four men stood in front of him; each of them had a huge pistol in their hands. Brandon's eye widened at the sight of the guns. The D-Points. They discharged large caliber bullets, which would hurt a necrolyzer like how pebbles would when tossed at a human.

"Brandon Heat, is it?" one of the man asked. "You'll pay for what you've done to Mr. Zed and his bar!"

Brandon braved the next hail of bullets slowly, his breathing grew ragged with each step and shot. But he must _not_ fall. Mika needed him as a shield.

The discomfort in his chest seemed to fade once he reached the guards. Swiftly, he picked a man up by his neck and slammed him against another. With a backhand punch to the head, he knocked the other out.

But one had slipped away from his visual field. _No, not Mika!_ He turned around.

Unfortunately, his fear came true. With his arm wrapped around Mika's neck, the man pressed the barrel of the gun against the girl's head.

"Move a muscle, and she'll be dead."

 _You scum._ Locked in place, he could only watch tears seeping out of Mika's closed eyes. He gritted his teeth. _You'll pay dearly for this.  
_

The man redirected his gun at Brandon. A bullet ripped through the air and ricocheted off his head, leaving nothing but a burning sensation. Another shot came, but this time, it struck his stomach. It didn't hurt, though.

All of a sudden, Mika spoke amidst her sobs, "Y-you can't kill him that way. O-only a point-blank bullet to the head can harm him."

"Oh, really." With a wolfish grin and Mika still in his grip, the man approached Brandon. "Heh, I can't believe that your own kid betrayed you." He took aim.

 _She fooled you._ Smiling, Brandon snatched the D-Point and put a bullet through the man's head.

With the man down, Mika rushed towards Brandon and hugged him. "I'm so scared!" she cried.

"You stay behind me." Brandon whirled. Casting a fierce glare at the half-conscious attackers, he pointed the gun at them. _You'd better know what you've gotten yourselves into. You threatened my child, and I wouldn't let you get away with it.  
_

Gunshots roared, staining the snow red. Brandon knew it was cruel, but that was just his way of life.


	2. The Pacifist

Vash knew he annoyed Brandon, but... What a weirdo. Didn't that big creepy guy realize the meaning of his words? Or perhaps, he didn't want a nice, peaceful life?

With a pensive face, Vash walked down the snowy pavement. Before the wormhole appeared at Gunsmoke, he had learnt how being an outcast felt. Destroying the City of July had stamped his head with a bounty of sixty billion double-dollars and drew the interest of most Gunsmoke residents. The brave and greedy ones would chase him day and night for his head, while the rest would avoid him like the plague.

Worse yet, he had never intended to destroy the city. As an attempt to annihilate humans, Knives had intruded his mind and activated his Angel Arm against his will. Vash's face had contorted in fear as his arm transformed into an enormous cannon, but determined to avoid casualties, he had managed to redirect the massive weapon to his brother. The blast wounded Knives severely and only consumed the town as a result, but without much food and water left, people started to die.

"You know _,_ " he mumbled, adjusting his trench coat to block off the gust of frigid wind, "if you want peace, you gotta love others first. Love is the beginning of peace."

But judging from his previous encounters with Brandon, Vash suspected that his advice would end up falling into deaf ears. Every time he told Brandon to stop committing crimes, the ogre would either sulk or counter it with a reason: "It's to protect my family."

Or maybe Vash had to try harder. He had yet to show Brandon how universal love would dispel hatred and sorrow.

The scent of glazed doughnuts wafted in the winter breeze, clearing Vash's runny nose and grabbing his attention. Sadly, he had just eaten a dozen of doughnuts earlier, although the chilly wind might cause his stomach to growl soon. Ignoring the hawker, he walked further down until his nose detected the fragrance of flowers.

 _A flower shop._ He looked to his left. Pots of red geraniums stood at the entrance of the shop, drawing him towards them. These flowers... Something felt strange. It felt as though Rem, his mother figure, stood beside him and gave him the warmth to combat the harsh weather.

Suddenly, her words replayed in his mind. _"In the language of flowers, red geraniums represent determination."_

"I see." Vash nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Rem."

The weather felt less cold now, and he resumed his stride with renewed confidence.

As he ventured further, two-story buildings with broken windows and peeling wall paints surrounded him. Without the smoke from a hawker's cooking, his nose began to freeze. Sniffles escaped from him, and his sneeze echoed across the forest of abandoned buildings.

"You sneezed too hard."

Jumping slightly at the stray voice, Vash looked around. A dead-end alley stretched beside him. Amidst the snow-covered trash cans, a man stood with a sinister grin.

"You surprised me!" Vash exclaimed. But he didn't bother to draw his gun. He would never fire it unless it was really, _really_ necessary.

"It's my lucky day." The man chuckled, creeping closer to Vash with a sparkling dagger in his hand. "Since everybody here treats you like a celebrity, I bet you must be very rich."

"Me? A celebrity?" He laughed, running his fingers through his spiky hair. "I'm just that popular, eh?"

"Gimme your money!" The thug lunged.

Sighing, Vash dodged the assault with a sidestep. "Oh, come on." Turning to the recuperating crook, he pulled his coat pocket inside out. "I'm broke."

"You must be hiding your money somewhere." The man charged again, but another sidestep sent him off-balance.

"Stop running around with that knife, buddy. You don't have any veggies to cut here."

The thug did stop moving, but his mouth and hands didn't. Screams and curses escaped from his lips as he thrust and swung his weapon. None of his strikes landed on Vash, unfortunately.

But he kept sending a barrage of jabbing and slicing steel.

"Or maybe it's a way to keep your body warm in this weather?" Vash asked, tilting his body to his sides to avoid the knife. "That sounds like a good idea."

Face reddening and twisting in anger, the thug screamed and launched himself at Vash. Failing to hit his target sent him crashing into the snowy ground face first.

"Don't worry." Vash hunched and scooped up a handful of snow. Coldness permeated through his gloves as he created a snowball. "This fluffy white thing is sure to cool you down."

The man raised his head. "You annoying little pest!"

Vash tossed the snowball at the man's face. "Have a nice day! And don't forget to chill out!" And he ran off to the intersecting roads ahead.

A dented street sign and a set of inactive traffic lights stood at the crossroads. A row of warehouses lay beyond them, telling him that he had almost reached his hideout.

He approached the second warehouse from the crossroads. Before entering through the doorless entrance, he observed the wall. A drawing of a peace hand sign resided there, reminding him that he had gone into the correct building.

Inside, after a sneeze, he couldn't help but grin at his encounter with the thug earlier. _A celebrity, huh?_ A pyramid of empty paint cans leant against the corner of the room. A matchbox and a newspaper rested on the table in front of a rickety wooden couch. Every night, he would sleep on the sofa with a burning paper on the concrete floor to keep him warm, although he hated how the smoke smelled and the fact that it always irritated his throat.

Today, since the frigid air had somehow pierced through his coat, he would set the newspaper on fire now. However, unless he wanted to freeze to death at night, he had to search for something to burn later.

As he picked up the newspaper, a screech exploded outside. _Rarely heard this kind of noise here._ Leaving the paper behind, he rushed out; the droning engine shook his eardrums harder as he approached the commotion. Two silver sedans had stopped before the warehouse, forming a blockage behind and in front of a dark blue van.

One of the van's windows opened, and a brawny arm snaked out of it. A massive pistol - likely a modified .457 Wildey - lay in its hand.

"Guns ain't toys, okay?" Vash dashed towards the arm and swiped the pistol. Suddenly, the car door slid open, and a white-haired giant leapt out of it. Vash stepped aside and dodged the advance, though. "No fighting."

"Then steal everybody's guns!" the ogre snapped, turning around and revealing a scarred, rage-ridden face. It was Brandon.

Vash looked around. "Huh?" Six men in black mantles had come out of their sedans, surrounding them with their pistols ready.

In a flash, he bolted past the three men in front of the van. Weapons snatched, and he made a sharp turn. Three more guns stolen in his sprint, and he stopped running.

Funny how those gangsters took some time to realize that their guns had gone into Vash's embrace.

"We can't beat Brandon like this!" one of them shouted. "Fall back!"

As the men retreated into their sedans, Brandon went after them. Vash immediately dropped all the guns and rushed towards the ogre. Wrapping his arms around the giant, he said, "No killing."

Brandon pressed on without showing a hint of hindrance. Noticing the fleeing cars, he moved even faster.

 _He needs an intimidation._ "Hey, you think I can't get serious?" Vash finally took out his .45 Long Colt. Pushing it against Brandon's head, he said, "If you don't listen, I'll shoot."

Brandon turned, his back facing the wall. A thrust from his leg propelled him backwards. Before the ogre's body and the wall crushed him in-between, Vash released the giant and dived out of harm's way.

After striking the wall, Brandon fell flat on his backside. Staring past Vash, he got up almost in an instant. "You let those murderers get away!" His hand came to seize Vash by his neck, but a sidestep foiled the attempt.

"You have a problem with them? Killing ain't gonna solve that."

Growling, Brandon turned away and motioned Vash towards the van. There, he pointed at a trembling and crying Mika, who had curled up into a fetal position on the leather seat.

"You should try talking to them. You know, most people won't hurt a child." Brandon only glared at him, so Vash added, "Dude, don't you know why you mustn't kill? Your victims are never alone. When they die, they'll leave their families behind and cause so much pain."

A roar and a fist came. Vash ducked, and the blow went clean through the wall behind.

After retracting his arm, though, Brandon only stood still. His jaws clenched in rage, but his eye glistened with sorrow. Moments later, he turned around and muttered, "You don't know how it feels when something happens to your own family."

* * *

Sitting in front of the little bonfire, Vash wondered out loud, "I don't know how it feels when something happens to my own family?" He shook his head. "You're wrong. I..." An image of an exploding spaceship emerged in his mind, drenching his eyes with tears. "I watched how Rem died."

The matchbox rattled as Vash juggled it. However, he failed to catch it with his unsteady hands. "I knew who was behind this. Knives..." After wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he picked up the little box. "I was very angry at him back then. I once tried to kill him in his sleep, but...I could never do that. Although he killed Rem and many other humans, I still loved him. I just wish to meet him again someday, so that I can convince him to correct his way of life."

Soon, his throat felt dry and scratchy, forcing him to retreat to the sofa. The distance kept him safe from the smoke at the cost of some heat. But after a moment of lying on the couch with chattering teeth and snuffles, he decided to get back up. _Boring._

Tossing the matchbox into the air, he whipped out his pistol. The little box landed on the barrel in a standing position, and Vash chuckled. Too easy. Sometimes, he wished he had a ball or an egg for this.

As he tried to perform another trick, he sneezed. The matchbox landed on his foot instead of his gun. _Good thing it's not an egg._

Hunching to pick up the tiny container, he heard a loud screech from outside. _Again?_ He turned to the exit. Somebody had parked a silver sedan in front of it. Then, three men in black mantles came out of the car...

The gangsters had returned.

Vash never liked it when these troublemakers invaded his hideout. They would flip his house upside down with gunshots and ruin the peaceful atmosphere he loved.

To prevent a possible shootout, Vash decided to sing loudly, "Total slaughter... Total slaughter... I won't leave a single man alive. La dee da dee die... Genocide... La dee da dee dead... An ocean of blood..." He whirled and pointed his pistol at the blocked exit. "Let's begin the killing time!"

The gangsters looked at him funny. Suddenly, they burst out laughing. "What a pathetic attempt to scare us off!" one of them said.

Vash sighed, holstering his pistol. "I knew it wouldn't work."

"We aren't here to fight anyway, Mr. Vash."

"Mr. Vash? You've found the wrong person."

"Don't lie." One of them walked towards Vash with his smartphone in his hand. Once he stood in front of Vash, he shoved it to his nose. On one side, the word "Wikipedia" resided. On the other side, Vash saw a picture of him with the words "Vash the Stampede" above it.

"Okay, you win," Vash grumbled. "What do you want?"

"I want you to come with us."

"You're trying to kidnap me?" Vash stepped back. "No! Nobody's gonna pay the ransom, you know!"

"I haven't finished talking." The man looked around. "You want to live in a better place? Like a five-star hotel or a mansion? Facilities include a room heater, free breakfast-"

Vash nodded. "Of course! It's for free, isn't it?"

"Sure, but you gotta see our boss first," the man said, turning around. "Don't worry. Boss is a nice person. As long as you don't mess around with him, that is."

Vash followed the three mobsters to the sedan. Once they opened the doors, the fragrance of doughnuts traveled through the air and into his nostrils. Right. A white box with the picture of those lovely rings rested on the seat.

"Wow. What a fantastic welcoming ceremony!" Entering the car, he swiped the box before sitting down.

"Hey, those doughnuts are for our boss!"

But another gangster nudged the noisy man in the gut. "No, it's for you, Mr. Vash." Then he whispered to the pouting mobster. Whatever he said, Vash wouldn't care.

The world seemed to stop when the glazed sugar melted in his mouth.

* * *

"You can continue eating after the meeting," the gangster said, smacking Vash in his back as they entered a wide room. "The boss is here."

A plump man sat at the large mahogany desk ahead. His attire consisted of a white classy suit and a fedora, reminding Vash of some crime lords he had ever read in historical articles.

"B-but there's just one more to go!" Vash complained in a muffled voice, pointing at the lone doughnut in the box.

"Let him do as he pleases, Henry," the mob leader spoke. "Now, have a seat, Vash the Stampede. I'm Jeffrey Rockwell. You can call me Jeff."

Vash approached the desk and sat on the chair in front of it. Putting the box down on the glass-covered tabletop, he said, "Well, your men said you'd let me live in great places. Like a five-star hotel or something."

"You'll stay in my mansion."

"Oh, great! What about the facilities? They say they'll give a room heater, free breakfast-"

"They're all yours." Jeff smiled. "But you have to work for us, the Chimera family."

"What?" Vash looked around for the gangsters who took him here. "They tricked me! Those good stuff ain't for free!"

"It's a fair trade."

"I won't work for gangsters. Ever." Vash crossed his arms over his chest. "You people do horrible things."

"Is that so?" Jeff hid his mouth behind his interlaced fingers. "Well, if you don't join us, there's a chance that I'll send some Chimera agents into a crowded market... There'll be blood."

"What did you just say?" Vash hated it when people killed each other for no good reason. He loved all livings; they gave this world life and colors. To kill any of them meant to ruin the world and spawn grief everywhere.

"You decide. If you join us, you'll save those lives."

"All right. I'll join," Vash grumbled. "But you'd better not touch the civilians!"

"I won't." Jeff pulled the desk drawer open and took a photograph out of it. "Anyway, your task is simple." He placed the photo in front of Vash. "I think you know this guy."

The white-haired man in the picture had a patch of pale skin covering where his left eye used to be. Brandon... Vash knew this one-eyed giant didn't have a good relationship with Chimera. Hopefully, Jeff wouldn't ask him to kill Brandon.

"Brandon 'Beyond the Grave' Heat. Millennion's greatest loan shark," Jeff explained. "Because he's a necrolyzer, Millennion also likes to assign him to various tasks that involve fighting and intimidation."

Vash blinked. "Necrolyzer? What's a necrolyzer?"

"A reanimated corpse."

"Yikes!" Vash pulled away. "No wonder why he often gives me creeps." But still, he would never kill Brandon. A corpse he might be, but he also had a family. And that glassy eye earlier... Sometimes, Vash would rather classify him as a living being.

"Protect us from him," Jeff requested. "That's all."

 _He didn't ask me to kill him!_ Vash smiled. "Sounds good to me."

He would frequently see Brandon in his new job, which he liked. Maybe as he carried out his duty, he would find the chance to correct Brandon's way of life.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The mobile game Plants vs Zombies makes a cameo here.
> 
> 2\. For Trigun-blind readers, Vash's species is called a plant.
> 
> 3\. For Gungrave-blind readers, necrolyzer is the universe's term for zombies.


End file.
